


you've done your worst (you tried your best)

by VeriLee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Past Lovers, RDR2, Rating May Change, Red Dead Redemption inspired, Tags to be added, but now they're on opposing sides, it won't be as confusing as that sounds haha, nobody likes Snoke, old west gangs, reylo in the old west, separated and reunited, snoke shows up too, so friends to lovers to exes to enemies to allies to lovers, some violence but not graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-09-19 11:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeriLee/pseuds/VeriLee
Summary: He’d thought of her more than once in the years since they’d parted but he never thought he’d be granted the chance to see Rey again, and he especially never expected to find her in a place like this, riding with a gang of outlaws, given what tore them apart in the first place.His surprise at her new associations, however, was overridden by the need to see her face, to look into her eyes. And Ben had always been a bit greedy.---A Reylo story set in the Wild West, near the end of the 19th centurySeparated by years, by choices - by taking different paths, outlaw Ben Solo is stunned to run into his one time sweetheart, Rey Johnson in a dingy bar hundreds of miles west of where they last parted. But there is nothing simple in their reunion; for in the years they've been apart, Rey has started riding with a gang which seeks to overthrow his own, and outside sources seek to challengebothof them.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElleRen31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleRen31/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for Elleren31 who wanted Red Dead Redemption inspired, rival western gangs Reylo. :) I took some inspiration from Arthur and Mary's story, though since she wasn't a gangster things are naturally going to be different! I hope you enjoy! *signs off with finger guns*

* * *

The shabby, little saloon wasn’t exactly an oasis from the dry, blistering heat outside. The mud brick walls had absorbed the heat of the harsh midsummer sun pounding down on it since sunrise, creeping in through the gaps between the wood plank roof, and the sweat and stink of drunken cowboys and gamblers was trapped in the stagnant air. 

But it did offer a bit of shade and a small respite from the desert heat, and though the region was “officially” a _dry_ county, the whiskey flowed freely within the confines of the little bar, situated well away from the bustling streets of town. 

And most useful of all, it afforded Ben Solo, an outlaw of some notoriety, an opportunity to observe a few newcomers to the region - a scrappy pack of thieves trying to establish a hold over the Jakku Valley. There would always be the occasional miscreant passing through, and Ben wouldn’t pay the odd minor tale of theft any mind. But when the same crew was rumored to have held up two trains and a bank within a fifty mile radius - well, then something had to be done. 

Given that Ben and his _companions_, a gang that had earned the nickname of The Knights, made their base in the rocky canyon bordering the valley, he couldn’t let some band of newcomers encroach on their territory. Five years ago, he would have been more reckless, rushing after these upstarts with nary a plan and even less caution. But he had come a long way from those hotheaded days of his youth, even if his temper did simmer under the surface, ready to make its way out if need be. 

And so he sat at the bar, drinking slowly. Watching, listening. 

Ben was a large man, and could easily command attention of a room if he willed it so. But clad head to toe in black, and sitting back amongst the shadows of the little bar, the other patrons found their card games and trades and dealings more interesting than the quiet man slouched on a stool. 

Some of the patrons were familiar to Ben. Of course, he and his men did not live in the town proper - or any of the nearby towns - instead, camping in the hills far off the beaten path. But Niima was one of many in the area they considered their own, and this bar was one they frequented whenever passing through between jobs. Homesteaders and merchants, gangsters and clergymen and railroaders - anyone who craved the liquor that _officially_ couldn't be sold in town made their way here. 

It was a few certain patrons that had caught Ben’s attention today, however. A trio of newcomers that fit vague descriptions of the very group that had robbed a bank some 15 miles south. The Resistance, they called themselves. _‘Just doing their part to keep the west wild and free,’ _one of them boasted, if the story relayed by one passenger on the train they held up was to be believed. 

A short man with curly brown hair and skin the color of desert sand reclined at a table, smirking over his hand of cards, a dimple in his cheek. But the tense posture of his shoulders betrayed him; he was not quite as relaxed as he wanted his fellow gamblers to think. Next to him sat a dark skinned man; his hat obscuring his eyes, but his mouth was drawn in a much tighter line as he surveyed the table. 

Behind them sat a third man, not partaking in the game, but Ben had watched him enter with the others. Like Ben, he seemed to be watching the crowd, rather than seeking entertainment. With his hat tilted low and bandana kept pulled up over his chin, even inside, away from the sand and dust whipped around by the July winds, Ben hadn’t been able to get a glance at this newcomer - this threat to his land and territory - and that unsettled him. The silent onlooker was leaner than the others but moved with an air of confidence; something told Ben not to discount the scrappy one if it came to a fight. 

And at the moment, the prospect didn’t seem so unlikely. 

Ben gulped the last of his whiskey but waved off the bar dog when he tried to pour him another base burner. He readied himself to act as he watched tension rising at the table across the room. 

“That’s three hands in a row you’ve lost,” The curly haired gambler said, a hint of antagonism coloring his drawl. “Ready to pay up? Or are you going to double your debt to me again?” 

“You’re cheating,” Armie, a partner, if not quite friend, of Ben’s seethed. Though Ben came to the bar today to observe, Hux had come to play - not a great idea for someone who had a poor sense of when to hold and when to fold, and an even worse poker face. “I wouldn’t have lost if this were a fair game. I want someone else to deal,” he said, tossing his cards on the table in anger. 

Armitage Hux - Armie to his friends, or those that pass for something close to friends anyway, and Hux to everyone else - typically had a cool head, and was a useful and meticulous planner when planning jobs. All of that went out the window, however, once he had a few drinks in him and got worked up over gambling. And this fella with the glittering eyes seemed to have him riled up more than usual. His face was flushed nearly as bright as the red hair on his head. 

“I don’t play dirty, _Hugs_,” the man said, “but I’ll get someone else to cut the deck and I promise I’ll _still_ empty your pockets.” 

“Hux,” the angry red-head grit out from between clenched teeth, his hand dancing towards the gun at his waist, and as the curly haired man followed suit, Ben took a long stride forward. Time to put an end to this. 

Before he could cross the short distance, however, the others from Curly’s party stepped in., The dark skinned man clapped a hand on the smirking man’s shoulder, even as his own hand hovered in the air above the gun at his own waist, and the third companion slid alongside Hux in a flash, holding a black eyed susan not a foot from Hux’s flushed red face. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” 

Ben startled, almost tripping over his boots before he regained his composure. 

_He knew that voice._

It wasn’t a man’s drawl - Ben’s assumptions of the third gangster had been wrong. But more than that, the woman's voice was a hauntingly familiar British lilt he hadn’t heard in years. It wasn’t quite the same - weathered by age and bearing an edge that spoke of enduring hardship, but he’d still know it anywhere. It was _her._

_Rey Johnson._

Ben was rooted to the spot, unable to breathe for a moment. Everyone else in the room continued to move - patrons warily watching for a fight, the bartender calling for them to take it outside - as though the world hadn’t begun to heave and shake under his very feet. Or maybe that was only in Ben’s head. 

Last time that he’d heard that sweet voice, it was bidding him goodbye, somehow tearful and angry at once. They were a good fifteen hundred miles east of this godforsaken desert - Rey had been adamant to stay in the East and Ben had been adamant to leave. The illusion he’d had of riding across the country, her by his side, had been well and truly shattered by reality. 

He’d thought of her more than once in the years since they’d parted but he never thought he’d be granted the chance to see her again, and he _especially_ never expected to find her in a place like this, riding with a gang of outlaws, given what tore them apart in the first place. 

His surprise at her new _associations_ however was overridden by the need to see her face, to look into her eyes. And Ben had always been a bit greedy. 

Finally regaining the ability to move, he walked forward even as Rey and her companion were guiding their friend to his feet. 

“Cut your losses, buddy,” Ben said to Armie, fixing him with a stare that brokered no argument. “Cough up what you owe and head home.” 

Hux glared at Ben; he never had been content with Ben’s status of leader of their little band, and didn’t often bite his tongue when the subject came up. But with the others watching him, poised and ready, he huffed a sigh and relented, wrenching a roll of bills from his pocket and slapping them on the table before storming out. 

“Ben.” 

The sound was a hushed whisper, barely audible since the din in the bar had picked back up, the excitement and fear of a possible fight having dissipated and the patrons returning to their cards and glasses. 

Rey pushed her hat back, letting it fall behind her, held by its cord, and tilted her freckled and wind-chapped face upwards, and for the first time in nearly a decade, Ben looked into the bright hazel eyes of the only woman who had ever held his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a short chapter! This is our introduction, of sorts. More to follow soon!
> 
> Thank you ever so much to @fettuccine_alfreylo for beta'ing!! :)
> 
> A couple old west slang terms in this chapter:
> 
> Bar Dog - Bartender  
Base Burner - A drink of whiskey  
Black Eyed Susan - A six shooter
> 
> (credit to [this website.](https://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang/))


	2. Twelve Years Ago

**_Twelve Years Earlier_ **

_ Ben was between hay and grass that summer and itching to run free. His parents were making him work long hours in the general store, even traveling to Hanna City with his father, readying him to take the reins and manage a location himself in due time. _

_ The last thing Ben wanted to do with his life was to spend it selling sugar and rakes and bolts of fabric, traveling only for the purpose of finding a better, cheaper supplier or setting up a new partner shop. He wanted to go west - somewhere where no one cared that his mother came from high society from the east coast, where the words “H. A. Solo’s Dry Goods” didn’t mean anything to anyone. Where the towns and cities were new, stories waiting to be written. _

_ But on Sunday at least - after sitting through the sermon in the hot and stuffy Methodist church downtown - his hours were free, and his alone. And Sunday was when he could visit with his sweetheart, Rachael, or Rey she was generally known. Her days were as busy as his own, as she apprenticed to a wheelwright who was also her guardian. Ben felt a pang of guilt sometimes, complaining about his own family when he knew she had borne a heavier burden than he. She was quiet, succinct when talking about her past - that her parents had left her in Old Man Plutt’s charge, and promised to return. She gave a steady smile to Ben when she first told him, though he could read the pain in her bright eyes. _

_ It was however, all the more reason why he wanted to leave Chandrila. He would take Rey with him, far from Plutt’s miserable little shop, his drunken rants. She insisted her never laid a hand on her, but he knew - anyone who had the misfortune to do business with him that Plutt was as hostile and angry as the day was long. But he was best wheelwright in the city when sober, and Rey picked up the slack when he wasn’t. But one day, Ben swore he would take Rey by his side, ride out as far west as they could, by horse or by rail, anything would do, and start a new life, just the two of them.  
_

_ Until that day, however, their Sunday picnics would suffice, and were the highlight of Ben’s weeks. Strictly speaking, his mother did not approve of, nor endorse Ben’s courtship of a girl without a family, a girl who’d been brought up in the workshop of a drunk. His father, a man of humble beginnings himself, didn't have the same qualms. In any other situation, Ben might have to pursue permission from Rey’s guardian in order to see her - Chandrila wasn’t Coruscant, and didn’t have quite the societal expectations of the cities along the east coast, but it wasn’t as relaxed as the towns further west either.  
_

_ But Plutt, like Ben’s own parents, allowed Rey a certain bit of freedom on Sundays. His shop, like every other in town, was closed for the day, and Rey gave indication on more than one occasion that he was still sleeping off the liquor he got into Saturday nights, too occupied nursing his barrel fever to pay any mind to what Rey got up to on her day off.  
_

_ They were barely outside of the church doors when Ben reached out to take Rey’s hand in his own. His mother might not take to his so boldly declaring his intentions, but Ben had not a doubt in his mind: the only gal he’d ever marry would be his Rey. _

_ Hand in hand they walked, down one block, and then another, and then another, until finally arriving at their favorite place, a marshy little pond at the edge of town - too shallow for fishing, and the ground surrounding it too soft to be built on or farmed very reliably - though wild watermelons occasionally grew there. _

_Ben had a pail with him - filled with apples and bread and chunks of cheese he’d wrapped up at home and Rey was carrying a jar of lemonade for them to share. It was much the same way they spent every Sunday afternoon - at least when the weather allowed it. Reclining in the grass, nibbling on their picnic and talking about anything that caught their fancy. _

_ Rey would take off her hat or bonnet, close her eyes and tilt her face upward to the warm rays of the sunlight and smile. Ben wasn’t sure there was a more beautiful sight in the world than watching her enjoy the fresh air. He knew she spent so many of her days cooped up in Plutt’s dim and grimy workshop. It was another thing he intended to rectify, to never make her be trapped in the dark again. _

_ “Might rain,” she said, blinking at the haze of cloud above them as she took a sip of lemonade. Rey had been in town since Ben was a child himself, though he never saw her at school. But she retained her British accent, though softer than that of some of the newer immigrants, despite her upbringing in the states.  
_

_ “I don’t mind,” Ben replied, reaching to take the jar of lemonade from Rey’s hand and gulping some down himself; it had long gone tepid in the afternoon heat. “Better than being inside. And I wouldn’t say no to a cooler night.” _

_ Rey hummed and nodded in assent. “Even if I have to walk home in the mud, I’d rather be out here.” She tilted her head up and pressed a soft kiss to Ben’s cheek, drawing a faint blush to his skin. _

_ “Let me take you out west,” Ben said, and not for the first time, putting an arm around Rey and tugging her nearer. “Never go home again.” _

_ “You know I can’t. My folks will come back eventually.” Rey was nearly sixteen, could marry or set out on her own. The only thing really keeping her tied to Plutt was this fanciful hope she often spoke of to Ben. “I need to be here.” _

_ Ben sighed and toyed with a lock of her long chestnut hair that had fallen loose from her knot. He didn’t point out that even if they did, she was all but a grown woman anyway. He’d made that mistake before and borne the brunt of her anger in payment.  
_

_ “You can’t go anywhere anyhow.” Rey said with a shrug. “What about the shop? Your father has plans for you.” _

_ The shop. Ben scoffed internally. Rey couldn’t fathom why he didn’t want to follow his father’s footsteps. Nevermind that the store was the first successful venture Han Solo had embarked upon after a string of failures; nevermind that his mother expected him to marry someone of means and with a name, despite her own match.  
_

_ “Anyhow, look what you find out west,” Rey said, holding up a piece of newspaper that Ben had used to wrap the cheese in. The article was detailing the crimes of a group of bandits wanted in three states and evading capture in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming.  
_

_ “At least they’re free men,” Ben said wistfully. “They answer to no one.” _

_ “See how free they are when they’re hanging from a tree!” Rey retorted.  
_

_ “That’s Hole-In-the-Wall Pass,” Ben said, glancing at the newspaper Rey brandished before him. “No lawman has ever captured anyone hiding out there. They may well live out their lives, thumbing their noses at the petty sheriffs that might try to stop them.” _

_ “An ill gotten and restless livelihood, still.” Rey crumpled the paper and dropped it back in Ben’s bucket. “Stolen from honest, hard working people and watching their back at every turn, sleeping with one eye open.” _

_ Ben only shrugged. “As though eastern cities don’t have the same problems, just dressed up as polite society.” _

_ “Don’t tell me you’re blind to the behaviour of these, these...pirates! Thieves and drunkards all of them. Common thugs.” _

_ “Tell me there aren’t thieves and drunkards here, criminals and thugs,” Ben returned. “Drunkards who are cruel to the children they promised to care for; bums that sell their own kids for-” _

_ He didn’t finish, as Rey’s hand came up and slapped his cheek, with a sharp crack, her eyes full of fury. _

_ “They wouldn’t have! If there was any other way, they… they…” her voice trailed off, sad and small. _

_ They both froze, Rey staring at Ben with ire and sadness in her eyes. The guilt settling in Ben’s stomach felt far worse than the sting of her slap. He didn’t harbor the fruitless hope for the return of Rey’s parents that she did, but it was cruel to say it in such a way. _

_ “I’m sorry, Rey. I know. I shouldn’t have said that.” He gathered her shaking form into his arms, rubbing circles into her back. “I don’t like you being under Plutt’s thumb, though. That’s all.”  
_

_ “Maybe I should go home,” Rey said softly, looking towards the sky again. “In case it does start to storm.” _

_ “Not yet, please?” Ben pleaded. “I’m a fool. But I’m your fool and I can’t bear to send you home until I see a smile back on your face.”_

_Rey only hummed, but she relaxed against him. They sat in silence, listening to the birds and cicadas all round until the first drops of rain began to sprinkle from the sky and Ben reluctantly walked her home, thinking all the while about the life he wanted, wild and free, and Rey’s insistence on staying here in Chandrila, and wondering how the conflicting desires could ever reach a happy conclusion. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that after such a delay, we're getting a very short chapter here. The next one won't be so late, I promise! But here we get just a little taste of the history between Rey and Ben; more to come!
> 
> Thank you again @fettuccine_alfreylo for beta'ing!! :)
> 
> **Western slang:**
> 
> Between hay and grass - more than a boy, not quite a man  
Barrel fever - hangover
> 
> (credit to [this website.](https://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang/))


End file.
